


Welcome Back

by anticyclone



Category: Good Omens (Radio)
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Extra Treat, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/pseuds/anticyclone
Summary: "I was going to go to bed with a book," Aziraphale mused, smiling now, "but I suppose you'll do just as nicely.""Will I?""You usually do.""Usually,"Crowley muttered.It took Crowley a year to get a new body - please, don't ask why he needed one - and now that he's made it back to Earth, he sees no reason not to find a fun way to break it in. It's a lucky devil to have such an indulgent angel to call on.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28
Collections: Yes Fest 2020





	Welcome Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



It took Crowley over a year to get a new body issued, after the… after the incident, which he'd prefer not to discuss, thanks.

London welcomed him back on a cold and foggy night. Aziraphale had moved in the meantime, so Crowley had to get the new address scribbled on a scrap of paper from one of his old neighbors. Pleasant enough man, easy to hypnotize. Terrible handwriting. Then Crowley had to wander through streets with far too many horses in them - if there was one thing to be said in Hell's favor, it was that the stables were out back and easy to avoid - in order to locate the new building.

He stood on the steps and peered into the window nearest the door. Dust clung to the panes. There was a gap between the curtains and the house was dark inside. Of course, dark didn't mean much to Crowley, but he still couldn't make anything out.

All right, then. Crowley rapped the knocker on the door. A moment later the door swung halfway open.

Aziraphale stared at him, wide-eyed. In the past twelve-odd months he had cut his hair close on the sides, although the shock-white curls were still long on top. There was a smudge of ink on the cuff of his left sleeve. It also decorated the underside of his left hand, shiny black against warm brown, and Crowley quashed an undemonic surge of tenderness at the confirmation that Aziraphale had still not mastered the art of writing left-handed with a feather quill.

Crowley reached an arm up and leaned on the doorframe, allowing his new body to stretch.

Aziraphale opened his mouth but seemed to be too surprised to make anything come out.

"Hello, angel," Crowley drawled.

Aziraphale blinked.

Then he said, "Well, that certainly took you long enough," which was not the reception Crowley had been hoping for.

Neither was, "What is with those awful tinted glasses? It's been dark for hours," but at least with that Aziraphale had opened the door all the way. Crowley allowed Aziraphale to grab his sleeve and tug him inside even though it meant getting ink smudged on his own clothing. The door swung shut between them and the fog.

"Is there anything you're pleased to see?" Crowley asked, dryly. He absently miracled the ink off the both of them. "If there isn't, I can show myself out."

"The door is the only thing you can find, you haven't been anywhere else yet," Aziraphale pointed out.

"If this is the grand tour, I've sseen all I need to ssee."

"Crowley, there's no need to hiss. You surprised me."

Aziraphale caught his elbow, and Crowley stopped in the middle of turning back to the door. He had enough experience trying to move when Aziraphale didn't want him to move. Crowley only fought losing battles when there was something in it for him. Like money, or baiting contemptible humans into making damning decisions, or tricking Aziraphale into taking jobs Crowley really didn't want to do for the Arrangement. Stalking out of the house when he'd come straight here after being released from Hell was not a battle he wanted to lose.

"I could be persuaded to stay," Crowley supposed, looking around.

"How gracious of you."

Crowley grimaced. "Please, it's my first day back, don't go throwing virtues at me."

"You know it's force of habit. Come on and hang up your coat."

There was a place to do so near the door. Crowley took the opportunity to look around. It was a nice house, nicer by far than the last house Aziraphale had. That had been an awful, cramped flat on the edge of the city. Even miracles hadn't been able to keep the soot off the walls there. Crowley had always left footsteps behind in the hallway at the end of his visits.

"Are you done with your penitent phase, then? This is quite the upgrade."

"I was not going through a penitent phase," said the angel now outfitted in a perfectly tailored waistcoat and a crisp muslin shirt that may have previously had an ink stain on the cuff but showed not a trace of city soot. His cravat was as full and neat as Crowley's; Aziraphale's being in white, of course, and Crowley's black.[1] Aziraphale added, "I had a number of assignments on that side of the city, and it was convenient."

"And now they've got you influencing the upper crust?"

Aziraphale shook his head with the curl of a smile at the corner of his mouth. That was 'yes' in Aziraphale. Crowley hadn't forgotten that in the interminable slog of getting his new body issued.

"I see you remain committed to your mission of plaguing Heaven's forces," Aziraphale said, not unfondly.

What an excellent opportunity to test the leering capabilities of this new body. Crowley grinned, slowly, and leaned in a little. Aziraphale's dark eyes went wide, like he'd just now realized Crowley stood taller than he had before he'd gotten discorporated. Crowley tilted his head. He'd left his black hair mussed, so it fell across his forehead as he moved.

"Oh, angel," he murmured. "Like you fear being beset by devils."

"Beset," Aziraphale echoed. He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. Crowley laughed, taking note of the smile that rose to Aziraphale's face. Aziraphale shook his head again, trying to smooth the smile away. _Yes._

"Are you sure you don't see anything you like, Aziraphale?"

"You don't need me to critique Hell's handiwork."

"Critiquing Hell's handiwork is your favorite," Crowley countered.

This time, Aziraphale's smile was on purpose. "If you insist."

He touched his fingers to Crowley's chin and tilted his head up slightly. Crowley allowed this because it was ridiculous. He'd wheedled a couple extra inches of vertebrae out of the corporations department and was now satisfyingly taller than Aziraphale. Not staggeringly so, but enough that Aziraphale didn't need to tilt Crowley's chin up to get a good look at him. But the press of Aziraphale's fingertips to his chin was insistent in addition to being ridiculous, so Crowley allowed it.

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully and tilted Crowley's head one way, then another. "You kept the cheekbones," he said.

"Do you approve?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said. He let go of Crowley's chin. "Gray at the temples is a nice touch. Are you going to get taller every time you discorporate?"

"What answer makes sure I don't get discorporated again?"

"Very funny."

Aziraphale brushed a lock of hair from Crowley's forehead. Crowley leaned into the touch, and for a moment they simply stood there, Aziraphale cupping Crowley's cheek in his palm. Tension eased out of Crowley's spine that he hadn't known he'd been carrying. Hell was aces at injecting tension into the body, though, so it didn't surprise him that someone had wound the thing up before he'd been installed. That was the reason for dragging himself through the fog to Aziraphale's place.

Then Aziraphale moved his hand and delicately lifted the glasses from Crowley's face. Crowley held his breath. 

Aziraphale regarded him for a moment before folding the glasses up. He tucked them into the inner pocket of Crowley's waistcoat, then carefully smoothed out the line of Crowley's clothes. It meant that his flattened palm briefly rested on Crowley's chest.

"I'm glad you kept the eyes too, my dear," Aziraphale said.

Whichever technician had been the one to put Crowley's chest together had erred somewhere, because Crowley's brand-new heart skipped. Couldn't trust Hell's handiwork as far as you could throw it.

"I was going to go to bed with a book," Aziraphale mused, smiling now, "but I suppose you'll do just as nicely."

"Will I?"

"You usually do."

 _"Usually,"_ Crowley muttered. He would've added more, but Aziraphale had latched onto his wrist and started to pull him toward the stairs.

***

Aziraphale was quite glad Crowley had kept his yellow eyes. He did know the original color must have been different, but… It would be graceless to say so, but Aziraphale simply couldn't imagine Crowley any other way.

Especially not now, with Crowley backing him up against the wall.

The point of coming upstairs had been to make use of the bed. They hadn't gotten that far. Crowley had made fun of Aziraphale's brocade bed curtains because Crowley couldn't help himself, and Aziraphale had said, "If you find the bed unacceptable, I trust you can come up with a suitable alternative," also because he could not help himself. That was how he'd ended up with Crowley bearing down on him. There was a desk only a few feet away but of course Crowley chose a blank expanse of wall to push Aziraphale against.

Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale's neck, thoroughly ruining the folds of Aziraphale's cravat. It would have been something for Aziraphale to complain about if Crowley had not also chosen that moment to press his lips to Aziraphale's pulse and slide a sure hand between Aziraphale's legs, palming Aziraphale through what suddenly felt like very thin breeches indeed.

"Very, ah, nice indeed," Aziraphale said. He moved himself forward, against Crowley's fingers. Crowley obligingly rocked the heel of his palm over Aziraphale. "I assume you had wine and refreshments in mind when you started over here."

"I did, but you're the one who invited me upstairs."

"I promise to let you raid the wine cellar after."

"Really?" Crowley was so surprised his hand stopped moving.

"Well, no. But you can come with me." That Aziraphale would look away at a strategic moment to allow Crowley to pluck a bottle Aziraphale would have otherwise kept hidden was implied.

Crowley's eyes settled on Aziraphale's. He smirked and undid the buttons at Aziraphale's waist, then tugged aside the narrow fall of fabric keeping Aziraphale decent. Crowley made quick work of freeing Aziraphale from his small clothes. Aziraphale let out a soft breath at the sudden easing of pressure against his cock.

"A demon might think he's been missed."

Aziraphale reached up and threaded his fingers through Crowley's hair, tousling it even further, so he could cup his hand against the back of Crowley's head. "Of course you've been missed."

"That's unaccountably sentimental of you, but I was trying to be seductive." In emphasis, Crowley's fingertips ran lightly along Aziraphale's length and his thumb rolled a circle around the end of of Aziraphale's cock in a way Aziraphale had never been able to resist.

Aziraphale could shudder and raise an eyebrow at the same time. "Is there something about me that suggests I haven't yet been seduced?"

The sound from the back of Crowley's throat was halfway between aggravation and arousal. He began to stroke Aziraphale's cock, his fingers barely grazing Aziraphale's skin, in an absolutely maddening fashion. "Angel, it'sss called foreplay."

"I do hope that hiss isn't just for show." Aziraphale canted his hips forward.

Crowley, the fiend, drew his hand back. "I told you that critiquing Hell'ss handiwork iss your favorite," he said. But the tongue that Aziraphale spied past his lips was forked at the end.

Aziraphale smiled. He gently tugged Crowley's head down. "You're my favorite, Crowley."

"Oh!" Crowley looked briefly startled, before he tucked that expression behind a wicked grin.

He did look very, very good, like a lean brawler someone had plucked off the streets and wrapped in dark finery. The black silk of his cravat caught the dim gaslight in Aziraphale's room and kept it, creating a shifting shadow below Crowley's face. It should have made him look serious and austere. There was that grin though, and, of course, those eyes. Crowley's clothes may have said 'gentleman of means,' but his eyes said he'd evaluated the situation, located the lynchpin he could pull to make it all crash down, and would laugh while it did.

If that meant Aziraphale was about to be dissembled, well. He didn't mind.

"Can you bring yourself to brave the bed curtains or - Ah!"

Aziraphale gasped, startled, as Crowley curled his hands under Aziraphale and lifted Aziraphale's legs from the floor. Aziraphale neatly clenched his legs in against Crowley's arms. His cock rubbed against the waistband of Crowley's breeches, and he scrabbled to dig his fingers into Crowley's shirt. He opened his mouth to ask what Crowley thought he was doing, but what Crowley thought he was doing was kissing Aziraphale, and it was difficult to ask questions while a forked tongue was in his mouth.

Aziraphale had been stationed on Earth for over five thousand years. He'd been discorporated less often than Crowley only because he'd learned to pick his battles more wisely. He shut his eyes and kissed Crowley back.

Aziraphale's head bumped against the wood. Crowley's kisses made him feel as if the wall should give, but it didn't move. Not for Crowley pinning Aziraphale in place and not when Aziraphale rocked himself in Crowley's grip.

Aziraphale wrapped one arm around Crowley's shoulders. The other hand, he loosed from Crowley's shirt to work at undoing the buttons of Crowley's waistcoat.

Crowley said, "You could miracle me out of my clothes."

"I will," Aziraphale said. He finished opening Crowley's waistcoat and slid his hand over Crowley's chest, above his shirt. His hand brushed Crowley's nipple and Crowley let out a little groan. "One day," Aziraphale said, "they'll start putting buttons up and down shirts, and I won't have to."

The miracle sent Crowley's waistcoat, shirt and cravat into a neat pile on the desk. (Aziraphale was glad he had neatened the stacks of books on it earlier.) It also opened Crowley's breeches, since in his current position Aziraphale could hardly be expected to reach down and do it himself. His own clothing he sent to a crisply folded stack on the desk chair. His own shoes, he tucked underneath the chair.

"What, I have to keep my breeches on?" Crowley asked.

"It lends you a roguish look," Aziraphale said. He received a grin in response.

Millennia of experience had given him a lot to say on the subject of what Hell passed off as professional work, but the span of Crowley's new chest and the broad shape of his shoulders reduced him to one simple word: _want._ Although in all honesty Aziraphale should credit the entire thing to Crowley and leave no accolades for whoever Hell had in their corporations department this century. He bent forward to kiss Crowley's shoulder, and he ran his thumb over Crowley's nipple again, touching bare skin this time without the shirt in the way. It made Crowley shiver, so Aziraphale repeated the motion and kissed Crowley's throat for good measure. His skin was hot under Aziraphale's mouth.

Crowley moved his hips. It rubbed Aziraphale's cock against Crowley's stomach, and Aziraphale drew in a shuddering breath. He wriggled in Crowley's hold and tightened his knees against Crowley's arms. Aziraphale could feel the hard length of Crowley's cock underneath him. A perfectly nice sensation. But there was that _want,_ still, and Aziraphale whined until Crowley pressed forward. Crowley groaned as he met oiled skin and the head of his cock eased into Aziraphale.

"Well," Crowley breathed, delighted, into Aziraphale's ear. "I know that wasn't _my_ miracle."

"Are you just going to hold me like this?"

"Could." Crowley moved his hips, his cock just stretching Aziraphale open, then moved back, a shallow, teasing thrust that left him pulled free of Aziraphale entirely. "This is hardly human strength we're working with here."

"Crowley!"

Bright amusement lit Crowley's eyes. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "I don't think whining is all that angelic."

Aziraphale didn't believe in rewarding bad behavior. Unfortunately, Crowley did - Insofar as it applied to Crowley.[2] The most expedient way to get what Aziraphale wanted was to do so. He kept a bracing arm behind Crowley's shoulders and cupped Crowley's jaw in his other hand, bringing him forcefully down for another opened-mouth kiss.

***

Satisfaction rumbled in Crowley's chest. The feeling of Aziraphale's fingers pressing against the side of his face made his head spin a little. Centuries of working together for the Arrangement (among other activities) had taught Aziraphale too well. Whatever thoughts he'd had of teasing Aziraphale a little more went out the window - wherever that was, he honestly hadn't looked around the room after spotting those godawful bed curtains - and Crowley thrust forward.

Aziraphale did whine, now. He jerked back, his dark eyes wide. The one white eyelash above his left eye that matched his hair was still there, and Crowley kissed the bridge of Aziraphale's nose, just to the left. There had been so many things to miss in Hell.

Like Aziraphale tight around his cock and his legs squeezing Crowley's sides. The angel never had been able to hold still. Holding him like this, Crowley's arms around and under him, and Aziraphale's legs bent over Crowley's arms, meant Crowley could keep him in place more easily. And get the best view of those dark eyes when Crowley pushed all the way into Aziraphale.

Not to mention the wall, which kept Aziraphale's back nice and straight. Thrusting deeper also meant that Aziraphale's own cock was trapped between them. Crowley couldn't let go to touch him, but that didn't seem to be ruining Aziraphale's fun. Adjusting the angle he held Aziraphale at meant Aziraphale's cock rubbing against their stomachs while Crowley fucked him. Crowley glanced down and saw a wet smear of precome at the head of Aziraphale's cock and on their stomachs.

He pulled nearly all the way out and very, very slowly moved back in. Aziraphale wriggled again, which made Crowley laugh. "C'mon, surely you've picked up a bit of patience by now."

"You are such an - an awful tease," Aziraphale complained. His lower lip stuck out.

Crowley bit it, lightly, until Aziraphale turned his head away. Crowley put his mouth next to Aziraphale's ear and said softly, slowly pulling his hips backwards now, "Tease, torment, tantalize…"

"Pester!" Aziraphale protested.

"Bedevil," Crowley said, breezily.

Aziraphale's nails dug into his shoulder. Crowley half shut his eyes and thrust forward hard enough to make Aziraphale's hips move with it. Crowley dragged the end of his tongue along the shell of Aziraphale's ear, enjoying the weight of Aziraphale's body in his arms, the way he was tight all along Crowley's cock, the way his own cock pressed hard against Crowley's stomach.

"Does this body measure up to the old one?" he asked.

Aziraphale blinked, and turned his face back so Crowley could press their foreheads together. "I would have to check, Crowley, I'm hardly _that_ observant. Shouldn't you know? You're the one who's in it."

Crowley shut his eyes. "I did not mean literally."

"That does make more sense," Aziraphale said. He moved his hand from Crowley's shoulder to cup the back of Crowley's neck, which was a nice warm feeling that went well with building a rough rhythm to continuing to fuck him. "And, yes, this new body is performing, ah… spectacularly…"

Now seemed like a good moment to open his eyes again. Aziraphale's face was still close. He looked entirely sincere, though, and there was a warm flush to his face and to his throat, when Crowley leaned back.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, his hand tightening on the back of Crowley's neck. "Don't stop. Please."

"If it's going to get me 'please' and 'spectacular.'"

When Crowley pressed into Aziraphale again Aziraphale's breath hitched, and his eyes shut and opened quickly, that one white eyelash like a flicker of light. Crowley pulled out quickly and thrust faster.

The angle was clearly working for Aziraphale, but it was nice for Crowley too. It meant that when Aziraphale came, his cock was pressed between their stomachs, and he got both of them - to borrow a word - spectacularly messy. Crowley spared a moment to glance down and watch it happen. Aziraphale's come spilled over both of them and smeared against their stomachs as he shuddered.

Crowley maybe had a thing for Aziraphale getting him messy, and he stayed buried in Aziraphale, keeping his thrusts small. Tension had coiled in low in his gut. If they were in a different position he might've spared a moment to run his hand over Aziraphale's stomach. Let his tongue curl around the edge of his finger just to watch the expression on Aziraphale's face. But they were up against the wall and Crowley could be content with small, hard thrusts that kept Aziraphale around him.

"I have missed this," Aziraphale murmured, his eyes half-shut. He'd gone all pliant and melty in Crowley's arms.

"Getting thoroughly fucked against a wall?" As far as Crowley could remember, they hadn't done this for at least a decade. Aziraphale's last flat may have been a sorry thing, the wallpaper too repulsive to consider, but it'd had a comfortable chaise.

Aziraphale shook his head and opened his eyes all the way. He rested his palm against Crowley's chest, just to the left of his sternum. "No, my dear. Your love."

It was really the look on Aziraphale's face, all tender and gentle and utterly open, so that Crowley could see the outline of Aziraphale's power tucked in underneath all the human trappings, that did Crowley in. It would take a better demon than Crowley to resist that look.

There were no demons better than Crowley, so the only respite was to hide his face in the crook of Aziraphale's neck. It felt like little sparks of grace were going off just beneath his skin. He felt too tall, too broad - For a moment everything felt _off,_ and then Crowley realized it was the force of Aziraphale's expectation about Crowley's last body. Crowley shuddered, and Aziraphale slid his hand into Crowley's hair. His other arm tightened across Crowley's new shoulders. Then there was a hot flare of - Of something, grace, acceptance, _want,_ and the too-big feeling dissipated.

Aziraphale inhaled soft, sharp breaths as Crowley came inside him, and Crowley burned with something he couldn't call grace. He'd call it something else, but only to Aziraphale.

Once, a long time ago, Aziraphale had said Crowley didn't need to. He'd said 'angel' was clear enough.

A moment later Aziraphale's head fell back. Mussed white curls fell over his forehead, and a few tiny beads of sweat dotted the brown column of his throat. Crowley spotted a freckle he didn't remember just above Aziraphale's collarbone and bent his head to kiss it. Aziraphale laughed softly, his chest moving under Crowley's mouth.

"Please tell me," Aziraphale said, his voice soft and warm and perfect, "that you're willing to look at my hideous bed curtains now, because I would very much like to lie down."

"Wine cellar first," Crowley murmured. He had been the one holding Aziraphale up all this time.

"Crowley…"

"You promised, angel."

"Oh, all right. Put me down."

Crowley did, gently. It was good to be back.

**Author's Note:**

> 1. Hell's wardrobe department had just as limited a palette as Heaven's.↩
> 
> 2. And Aziraphale, not that Crowley would admit to that.↩


End file.
